


Barriers

by vindicatedtruth (orphan_account)



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M, Multiverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7328266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/vindicatedtruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is the only thing we take with us.  It is all that we carry from one life to the next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barriers

 

_“If you came to me with a face I have not seen, with a name I have never heard, I would still know you. Even if centuries separated us, I would still feel you. Somewhere between the sand and the stardust, through every collapse and creation, there is a pulse that echoes of you and I._

_When we leave this world, we give up all our possessions and our memories. Love is the only thing we take with us. It is all that we carry from one life to the next.”_

 

* * *

  

Hazel eyes shining with the promise of eternity.

Hazel eyes gazing with the promise of being whole.

It is a few millennia since the beginning of time, when the universe is about to be born.

Amidst the divine beings soaring and gliding between them, the two gods look at each other, both eyes locked with the promise of _love_.

Beneath their hands, the kernel of life glistens, ready to explode.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Hazel eyes flaring with fierce protectiveness.

Hazel eyes widening in fear.

The language in which they speak is not known, lost in the folds of history, in this time when there is no writing to record that it has ever existed, in this time when the earth is still so new, when men share the land with giant reptiles. Some are gentle. Others are monsters.

This one… is particularly vicious.

The boy trembles in its presence. A shadow falls over his gaze as he sees the man step in front of him.

He knows what the man is going to do even as he hears the roar from the monster charging at them.

He closes his eyes as he wishes they had more time.

 _Not yet_ , the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

Hazel eyes looking on with longing.

Hazel eyes looking back with apology.

The boy watches as the man leans forward to kiss his new wife. The entire kingdom bursts into cheer as it witnesses the union of their new King and Queen.

Their eyes flutter open as they look at each other. The Queen is radiant, shining with love for her new husband.

The King smiles back, and draws the new Queen into his arms as he looks over her shoulder.

Hazel catches on hazel on an indrawn breath.

The boy looks away. He is only a servant after all.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

Hazel eyes dimming with hopelessness.

Hazel eyes blazing in anger.

Whispers ripple like wildfire throughout the village. _Witchcraft_ , the rumourmongers hiss, and the man has never had the urge to kill so _strongly_ in his life.

Helpless, he can only watch as they tie up the boy to a stake, his desperate protests drowned out by the furious, frightened jeers of the people around him.

He remembers the way the boy would sing, the way it would make him _feel._ It makes him believe in the existence of magic—and how such a power can never be anything but _good._

Fear of the unknown, however, turns humanity into such beasts.

They light the firewood by the boy’s feet.

Hazel locks onto hazel as the boy mouths one final, silent plea.

‘ _… Save me.’_

The man isn’t sure who screamed louder as his vision turns red.

 _Not yet_ , the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

Hazel eyes watching with curiosity.

Hazel eyes averting in embarrassment.

Their division in class is obvious: the elites are in the upper deck, in their suits and dresses and wine glasses in hand, while the rest of them are cramped together in the lower deck, the stench of body odour strong in such close quarters.

The man is used to it, however, resigned to this station for the rest of his life. He has never been foolish enough to wish for anything more, for things to be different.

Except when he first sees the boy in white, shining with an inner light like something out of a fairytale, he wishes the gap between their classes isn’t as yawning as the distance between heaven and earth.

He looks down at his worn work clothes stained with grime and grease—at his skin tone that is several shades darker than the boy’s—and sighs.

The waves crash against the deck, and he frowns.

(He doesn’t know that in four hours, their ship will sink. There will be no survivors.)

 _Not yet_ , the universe whispers. _Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Hazel eyes sizzling with temptation.

Hazel eyes burning with guilt.

He’s been training to be a priest all his life, and while the decades of devoted study makes him feel so old, when in the presence of this man, he can’t help but feel so _young,_ so out of his depth, so _helpless_ against the way he is _drowning_ in his presence.

It doesn’t help that the man—looking so out of place in his Church, looking so darkly _beautiful_ —always sits in the front pew whenever he’s the one preaching the homily.

The man never kneels in prayer. But he feels the man’s gaze on him every time he speaks… and especially when he sings.

Later, after one particularly draining celebration of the Eucharist, the young priest steps inside the box for his schedule—and suddenly forgets how to breathe when he realises who is on the other side.

“I have a confession to make,” the man says softly—and the young priest finally, _finally_ sees him kneel.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

Hazel eyes filling with dread.

Hazel eyes hardening with determination.

His Captain is mortally wounded, his tourniquet is swiftly turning scarlet, and around them, the body count is steadily rising. In the distance, another grenade drops. It’s quickly followed by the unmistakeable sound of a gattling gun, drowned by the roar of the jet planes overhead.

He knows they don’t have long now.

He watches as his Captain looks grimly at his remaining bullets as he readies his rifle. He didn’t think they’d end this way. He thought, after the war, they’d have more _time._

His Captain looks up when he moves forward and touches his shoulder. His Captain’s eyes widen when he suddenly kisses him.

(It tastes of blood, and death, and unfulfilled love.)

“Lieutenant!” he hears his Captain scream when he leaps over the barricades. “Damn it, James, come _back_ here!”

 _I’m sorry, Roland_ , he thinks as peace washes over him. _But I finally found something worth dying for._

He charges at the enemy soldiers as they open fire.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Hazel eyes shining with conviction.

Hazel eyes looking on in admiration.

She hasn’t been sure what to expect from this class. She has been raised in a household that has always been so overprotective, so conservative, and so _religious_ , that this professor’s radically feminist beliefs seem so out of place, so out of _time._

… And so utterly _refreshing_.

She nearly jumps in her seat when the professor suddenly zeroes in on her.

“You there,” she says suddenly. “What’s your name, young lady?”

She stands up and smooths the creases on her skirt to hide the way her hands are nervously shaking.

“You can call me Archie, Miss Cook.”

“Archie,” her professor murmurs, and she shivers at how _right_ the syllables sound in that beautiful mouth. “What a lovely name.”

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

Hazel eyes waking to the sunrise.

Hazel eyes looking out the window to watch the sunset.

On one side of the world, a young writer immediately powers up his computer to continue the manuscript he’s writing. He looks at the painting hanging on his bedroom wall, smiles at the emotions being evoked by the amalgam of colours, and begins tapping on his keys.

On the other side of the world, an artist wipes the sweat off his brow as he steps back to eye his latest handiwork. He looks down at the open book by his canvass, and smiles at the passage which this impromptu painting is bringing to life.

The writer’s walls are filled with paintings by the same artist, and the painter’s shelves are filled with books by the same author.

They’re both named David. And they had never met.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

 

Hazel eyes looking around distractedly.

Hazel eyes looking far away dazedly.

The man enters the building just as the boy exits from the other side.

The next day, they are standing right across each other on the street. The stoplight blinks, and they cross at the same time. The man is walking his dog while the boy is looking down at the book he’s reading. Both have music blasting on their respective earphones. They pass each other by.

The next day, they are both rushing to catch the next train. The boy’s swifter gait enables him to leap across the carriage just before the doors close behind him. He doesn’t see the cursing man whom the train leaves behind.

The next day, they are eating at separate tables at the same diner. The waitress is amused that they ordered the exact same thing, down to the dessert.

The next day, they are sitting at the same fountain, their backs turned to each other as they each toss a coin over their shoulders, making the same wish. They stand up and walk away in opposite directions.

The next day, the boy is inside a mall on the third floor, looking to buy new music sheets for the piano. On the second floor, the man is looking to buy a new guitar pick. The boy descends the escalator, and the man ascends it.

The next day, they exit from the same row of apartments. The boy is from Apartment A. The man is from Apartment B. The boy turns left. The man turns right.

They never see each other.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

 

Hazel eyes shyly fluttering underneath long lashes.

Hazel eyes rimmed with eyeliner widening in surprise.

“You’re _how_ old?” the man exclaims.

“I’m, um, seventeen?” the boy stammers, kind of adorably. “Though I’ve been singing since I was, um, very young?”

 _Minor_ , the man thinks distractedly, _but not for long._ “What’s your name?”

The boy beams at him, and man’s heart jumps both at power of that smile—and at the surprising revelation of his name.

“I’m David.” The boy wipes his hand on his jeans before he sticks it out. “David Archuleta.”

Something seems to sway beneath the man’s feet—like the earth tilting on its axis, like something in the universe sliding into place—but he shakes off the strange feeling as he smiles and takes the young boy’s hand.

“My name’s David too,” he says, and grins at the way the boy’s eyes widen almost comically. “David Cook.”

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

 

Hazel eyes shining with pride.

Hazel eyes filling with tears.

The man pulls the boy close and whispers in his ear. “ _I love you_.”

He feels the boy’s arms tightening around him, feels him smiling against his shoulder.

But then he feels the boy pull back as soon as the stage lights brighten, and something inside of the man’s chest _aches_.

“America!” Ryan Seacrest says cheerfully into his microphone. “Your new _American Idol_!”

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Hazel eyes clouded with grief.

Hazel eyes flickering with worry.

The boy sees the man fall to his knees, his legs shaking with the high of their 40,000 strong joint concert, and the pain of being unable to share this moment with the brother he has just lost.

The man kisses his fingers and points it to the sky. He is unable to sing anymore.

Determined, the boy keeps singing, keeps waving his arm in the air, urging the people to sing along, tens of thousands of voices coalescing like heaven’s forgotten hymn.

He hopes Adam is listening. This song… is his _name._

He sees the man finally regain strength as he stands up and thanks the crowd, and the boy feels it coursing through his veins—the ancient, unspeakable magic that only music can bring.

 _Thank you,_ he thinks with a bright smile, even as tears fill his own eyes. _Thank you, Manila… for saving him._

He watches the man pause before he walks off the stage. The boy blinks when the man smiles at him before slinging an arm around him and pulling him close.

“Thank you for singing with me,” the man says softly, and the boy feels his heart soar.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

 

* * *

 

Hazel eyes wet with tears.

Hazel eyes glassy with shock.

From several states away, the man watches the video recorded and uploaded several hours ago.

_“…I’ve chosen to serve a full-time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. And it’s not because someone told me that I was supposed to do it, not because I no longer want to do music anymore, but it’s because it’s the feeling that I felt that I need to do next in my life. It’s just the same feeling that I’ve always tried to follow in my life. It’s the feeling that’s allowed me to have the opportunities I’ve had, the challenges I’ve overcome, and the blessings too. And I’ve learned to trust that feeling. And I’ve learned that I need to answer when it calls.”_

He hears the boy’s voice finally break before singing one final Christmas song.

Inside his ribs, he feels his heart shattering.

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

 

Hazel eyes warm with welcome.

Hazel eyes shining with joy.

“Can you play _Crush_?” the man teases with a knowing grin.

“I could,” the boy answers with a playful smirk.

He lays his hands over the keyboard after what feels like a lifetime without it. The man senses his hesitation, and smiles as he turns the volume up for him.

The anxiety creeps over his heart. Will they still welcome him? Will they still welcome his music?

He senses the gentle support radiating in waves from the man seated behind him, and he takes a deep breath.

The notes and lyrics fall easily from his lips, as familiar to him as they have been six years ago, and he feels his chest swell when his home state _cheers_.

“Are you holding back, like the way I do?” he sings, and something in both his voice and his heart cracks at the question.

The man walks up to the microphone seemingly in answer.

“Am I crazy or falling in love?”

 _Not yet,_ the universe whispers. _Not yet._

* * *

 

Hazel eyes numbly staring at the television.

_“Sometimes, there are days like this, when that slow, steady effort is rewarded with justice that arrives like a thunderbolt.”_

Feeling like his legs can’t support him anymore, the man sits shakily on the couch, watching the President of his country deliver a speech he could have _never_ imagined hearing, _ever_ , in this lifetime.

(Or any other lifetimes before this.)

_“This morning, the Supreme Court recognised that the Constitution guarantees marriage equality. In doing so, they’ve reaffirmed that all Americans are entitled to the equal protection of the law, that all people should be treated equally, regardless of who they are, or who they love.”_

His attention completely captivated by the television, he fails to notice the fifty-six missed calls—all from the same person—lighting up his phone during the entire nine-minute speech that has now _changed his life._

The doorbell rings harshly, loudly, frantically. Heart hammering wildly against his ribs, he gets up on shaky legs to answer the door, knowing exactly who is waiting on the other side.

He is greeted by hazel eyes filled with so much _hope._

Those eyes—dear, beloved, _familiar—_ flicker over the man’s shoulder for a moment and widen when they see what the man is watching. Those eyes are suddenly filled with tears, but they are also filled with so much _happiness._

He has never seen those eyes look as beautiful as they do today.

The boy opens his mouth to speak, but words seem to fail him. Heart in his throat, the man looks down and sees the small, nondescript box the boy is gripping tightly in shaking hands.

He crushes their mouths together in a fierce kiss.

“… _Yes._ ”

 

* * *

 

The television is still playing. President Barack Obama’s speech has been replayed over and over that day across all news channels—a constant reassurance that this isn’t a dream.

Naked, warm, and sated atop his soon-to-be husband, the boy runs his finger lightly across the engagement ring now adorning the man’s left finger, smiling at how it looks so indescribably _right_.

“Do you think,” the boy murmurs, “the time has finally come when we don’t have to hide like this, anymore?”

(Across the multiple dimensions that exist, the same question is being asked by two lost souls that have been torn apart by the forces of the universe.)

The man rolls them both over, reversing their positions, and presses them both gently against the couch as his bangs frame his beautiful hazel eyes.

(The boy feels like he has loved those eyes since the beginning of time.)

“Not yet,” the man whispers as he leans down to kiss him. “… But soon.”

 

* * *

 

 _“I don’t know what it’s like to love someone, who the world tells me I am not supposed to love. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to love someone I am afraid to kiss on the street._

_But I do know what it is like to love someone who I cannot be with. I know how it feels to have my brain tell me one thing, and my heart another. To live with the knowledge that if circumstances had been different, I would be with the one I love._

**_I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them._** _”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Passages at the beginning and end are from Lang Leav's "Stardust" and "Love", respectively.


End file.
